Vol 4: The Woods Stand Still in Shadows
by the-casket-girls
Summary: 8 years ago, Aeron celebrates on year at the Armory. Now, Hope has boys on the brain—more specifically, the one in her belly. ((Vol. 4 of "Oblivion Hymns"))
1. Prologue

**The next vol! Unbeta'd.**

* * *

PROLOGUE

 _Miles to Go Before Sleep_

 _Eight years ago …_

Aeron sat by the window, feeling the night air kiss his skin. It was cold, but he didn't mind; he could see the stars, stretch his wings out behind him with no pain, had slept the night before without nightmares. He wasn't healed, per se, but he was recovering.

Today marked one year since he'd first winnowed into the woods outside the property. One year since the monster had shredded his wings, since he'd escaped, since he'd gotten his second chance. One year since he first caught sight of Hope, barefoot in the moonlight.

There was to be a celebration that night, he knew. Caroline had set it up, calling it his "rebirthday", given that he didn't know when his actual birthday was. Josie was cooking some sort of ridiculous cake (with supervision from Alaric), and Caroline had the room they used for private dinners decked out in decorations already. Elijah and Hayley were visiting, while Kol, Davina, Rebekah, and Marcel had sent their best wishes.

It was all set to be a night to remember.

Now, if only he could stay his anxiety at seeing Hope for long enough to look forward to it, he might just enjoy himself.

* * *

 _Now …_

It was nightfall by the time the pyre was built.

Hope had learned to build fires long ago, courtesy of Kol. Nix had been better at it when they'd traveled together, but she tried to avoid copying anything that traitor had done.

When it was done, she wrapped the Suriel in the cloak she'd brought to offer it, biting back the lump in her throat at the cruel irony of it. She lifted the body up onto the pyre, finding the weight negligible. The Suriel was barely more than bones, she found.

With the Suriel in place, Hope rested a hand on the edge of the cloak, not quite touching the corpse. "I won't say I'm sorry," she said. "I can't imagine anything more meaningless. But I will say that th0ugh I know I may never deserve peace again, but I hope you find some."

Blinking back tears, Hope stepped away, keeping her hand hovering in the area. Steeling herself, she said, " _Incendia,"_ and watched it burn.

If this was ever going to end, she'd have to end it herself.

* * *

 **I know this was short, but I have Act I coming your way by 17/09. Feedback makes it come faster!**


	2. Act I

**Thank you for your lovely comments! They were very inspiring, and definitely helped me deliver this one a little early.**

* * *

ACT ONE

 _Cruel Sparks_

 _Eight years ago …_

With the exception of having his room initially made up for him upon arrival, Aeron had never had a space decorated solely for _him._

Now, he had a room he'd furnished himself—well, he'd chosen the furnishings, the paint colour, even the curtains, and Klaus and Caroline had spent an afternoon bickering over how to assemble it all. And now, as he watched it come to life around him, he had a room decorated just for his "birthday".

It was starting to feel like it might actually be his birthday, after all.

Caroline had spent five minutes staring at him silently before declaring this his fifteenth birthday. He didn't know how she'd come to that decision, but as someone that had never known just how old they were, it meant something to have an answer now. He didn't much care about its accuracy.

Josie and Aeron were tasked with setting up the table, which meant that Josie ordered Aeron into a chair while she did the work, narrating it all with an accent that was apparently French, pretending to be a waiter.

All the while, down the bond, Aeron could feel Hope's unhappiness. It warred with his own contentment, making it hard for him to focus on Josie at times. Thankfully, conversations with Josie rarely required one to give an actual response.

"There!" announced Josie, waving a hand at the table. The runner was dark grey silk, almost maroon in parts, and it reminded Aeron of his wings in the sun. Klaus must have chosen it. The silverware was nice, but not too nice, and the entire middle of the table was clear and ready for the larger dishes to be placed on it. The walls were decorated with a simple banner on each so that the occasion could not be forgotten wherever one looked:

 _Happy Birthday Aeron!_

Feigning a casual tone, Aeron asked, "Do you know where Hope's been? I haven't seen her around."

Josie shrugged, falling into the chair beside him. "She's arguing with David about something, apparently. I haven't gotten the goss yet, but I heard her talking to Hayley on the phone the other night."

"Did he upset her?" Aeron did his best to remain calm. It wasn't his place to protect Hope, he reminded himself. Especially not when the wound wasn't a physical one.

"I don't know, but if he did, I'll string him up by his balls and hang him on the front gate to warn off the other assholes that want to mess with my sister."

Aeron couldn't help but chuckle at how protective she was. Hope was older than Josie, and more powerful, to boot. Unless Josie got her hands on a big enough magical power source, that is. "I can't promise to help you," he said, "but I can drive the getaway car."

"The gate is literally a thirty second drive from the parking lot. And you can't drive."

"It's the thought that counts."

Josie laughed, rolling her eyes at him. "Anyway," she said, "we should be talking about you. How do you feel, old man?"

"I'm not that old."

"Older than me."

"We don't know that for sure."

"Sure we do!" Josie said, smacking his arm. "I couldn't annoy you this much if I wasn't your little sister."

Aeron ducked his head at the phrase, feeling a little awkward.

"Oh, do you—do you not like that?" Josie sounded uncertain for perhaps the first time since he'd met her. "I didn't mean to be weird, I just—"

"No, it's fine," he assured her quickly. "It just surprised me."

She bit her lip. "But in a good way?"

"In a good way, I promise. Having a sister is new to me."

"Well, you have more than one."

He wasn't sure that he saw Hope as a sister, so he just said, "Lizzie and I don't talk very much, though."

"Lizzie doesn't talk very much, period. But you guys'll get closer, I swear. I can tell." She frowned, then added, "Unless you don't want to, that is."

"No, I do. I … like having sisters."

Josie smirked. "I bet you I can change that."

"I doubt it."

"Okay," said Josie, eyes glinting at the challenge. "Give me … two more years. Two years, and you'll wish you never met me."

Aeron scoffed. "Yeah, okay. Go for it. But do you have to start tonight? I'm kind of looking forward to it."

Josie threw a soup spoon at his head. "I'll start when you least expect it, and don't try to stop me."

Aeron laughed, leaning down to retrieve the spoon from the floor. "Bring it on."

She only made it to three more spoons before Caroline found them, shrieking loud enough to alert the entire Armory to their transgressions.

* * *

 _Now ..._

The last time she'd been to the Summer Court, Hope had slaughtered an entire temple of Priestesses. In light of this, she hadn't been expecting it to still be such a pleasant place to visit.

And yet the air was warm, but not overly so, and the breeze that wafted over Adriata that was cool and calming. The crashing waves reminded Hope of her honeymoon.

Getting a hold of herself, Hope turned away from the jewel-toned sea and walked back into the city proper, searching for some sort of dining establishment. She was famished and she'd lifted coins from the fae she killed in Autumn; after days of hunting and scavenging for food, she was looking forward to a decent meal.

She found a place near enough to the sea to still smell briny, and purchased some sort of fish soup that warmed her belly. The shop owner, a woman with dark skin and red, full hair, insisted that Hope receive some complimentary juice. It wasn't alcoholic, of course, and had been pressed from her own family's vineyard. When Hope asked why she was being so kind to a stranger, the woman's reply was succinct but no less powerful:

"Human girls are hurt all over Prythian. Not here."

Hope wondered what she'd say if she knew what she really was. Instead, she only smiled prettily and leaned back in her seat, taking another sip of the juice gratefully. It was divine, and not just compared to the river water she'd been drinking for weeks.

More customers filed in, most greeting the owner by name and sending their very loud well wishes to the cook and kitchen hands at the back of the establishment. They were boisterous, some even drawing Hope into their conversations, as with a couple that sat at the table beside hers.

"A human girl," said one fae, a male with scaled arms and legs. "You must be brave to travel to here through the Spring Court alone."

Hope didn't contest this, knowing that, logically, if she were human she'd had to have crossed through Spring. She couldn't well announce that she'd been magically transported through the Middle.

"I kept my wits about me," she assured them. "I've actually be travelling through Prythian for a while. Looking for my lover, you see," she said, drawing their attention to her belly.

The male's companion, a female with golden skin and sea weed for hair, tutted, "And you think he's here?"

"He may be," she said. "But I'm also looking for a gift for him. Do you know any blacksmiths in the area? I know he could use a good blade."

"A warrior, your male?" asked the first fae, his lips spread wide to reveal needle-like teeth. "Well, you'll be wanting the finest for him, then. There's a good blacksmith down on the Western side of the city, but for the best work, you'll want Lyn."

"Lyn is very expensive, though," contributed the female. "She's the best. She does all the weaponry for the guard, commissioned by Prince Varian himself."

"I have the funds," Hope assured them. "And I do want the best for my lover. Where might I find this Lyn?"

"Her smithy is located just outside the castle itself. We can take you there after this, if you want."

"That would be so kind of you," said Hope. She hated relying on the kindness of strangers like this, but she didn't have many other options. "Thank you so much."

"It's no hassle, just a quick walk," the male promised. "You enjoy your meal, and we'll get ready to leave, shall we?"

Hope swallowed the last of her juice, getting ready to depart. If she was going to kill Jora, she'd need the best weapon she could find to do it. And the best weapon she could find was one that she made herself.

Standing, she said, "I'm ready."

* * *

 _Then …_

" _Happy birthday to you,_

 _Happy birthday to you,_

 _Happy birthday dear Aeron …_

 _Happy birthday to you!"_

"Hip-hip"s and "hooray"s echoed around the room, making Aeron duck his head a little.

He'd seen the twins blow out their birthday candles before, but he'd never done it himself. It turned out to be easy and not worth worrying over, but that did little to effect Aeron's general anxiety regarding this world, the way it surprised him in ways he never anticipated.

The cutting of the cake was a raucous affair, Josie calling foul when Hope received a bigger piece than her. Aeron got the biggest piece of all, and several dollops of cream to go with it, but no one complained.

The gifts went by in a blur, including piles of sheet music (from Hayley and Elijah), books that he'd wanted (from Lizzie, Freya and Keelin), books that he'd never heard of (from Rebekah and Marcel), a cushion in the shape of a bat (from Josie), some comic books (more from Kol than Davina), a guide on how to read comic books (more from Davina than Kol), and a better headset through which to listen to music after his last one broke (from Klaus and Caroline).

Somehow, Hope's gift was last. It was a small blue box wrapped in black ribbon, tied carefully and with a tag attached. Aeron thanked her courteously, finding it impossible to avoid her gaze.

The tag read:

 _For Aeron, the best thing I've ever found in the woods._

He laughed, thanking her again. Her smile was soft, but her eyes shone.

He untied the ribbon slowly, carefully, then opened up the box. Inside rested a charm in the shape of a music note, one that would fit easily onto the charm bracelet Kol and Davina had given him for Christmas.

"I know the charm bracelet they gave you will alert them if you're in trouble," Hope said, "but Aunt Freya helped me make this, so it'll alert me, too. It'll tell me where you are." She raised a hand to show a small ring on her pinky finger. "The spell's attached to this, so, it should work."

Aeron found himself lost for words. As meaningful as the gift was, Hope shouldn't need a magical charm to know when he was in danger. She should know because of the mating bond, and if she didn't, then that meant she didn't feel it to begin with.

"Thank you," he said, sincerely. He appreciated the sentiment, even if it revealed something she didn't know it did.

Her smile was small but dazzling. "You're welcome."

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope wasn't sure what she'd been expecting from the smithy, but it hadn't been this.

Most movies portrayed blacksmiths' as dirty places populated by large, filthy men with rotting teeth and hands black with soot. This set-up was clean, if a little hot, the bellows patchy but functional and the hammer and anvil swept clean of all dust. A woman, presumably Lyn, stood by the fire, preparing to lift a brick of glowing hot metal with a pair of sturdy tongs, her dark brown skin coloured red from the flames.

She noticed Hope just before she lifted it, nodding at her before continuing on, transporting the brick to the anvil and returning the tongs to the rack. She wiped the sweat from her face with a cloth, turning to face Hope.

"What do you want?" she asked curtly, a little out of breath. Her breeches were full length and tucked into boots, likely to shield her feet from injuries around the workshop. She was clearly fae, slanted cheekbones and unnatural beauty and all, but she had no lesser fae features and her ears weren't pointed like a High Fae's.

"I came to commission you," said Hope. "I was told you were the best."

"You were told correctly," said the woman. "I'm Lyn. And you are?"

"Enid," said Hope. "Enid … Blyton." _Fuck._

Lyn nodded, crossing over to the wall to fetch an apron and toss it at Hope. "Wear this," she said, "and you can come closer while I hammer this piece. I can't let it cool, so we either speak now or after I finish work."

"When do you finish work?"

"Never."

"Now, then," Hope said brightly, ducking her head through the top of the apron and tying it behind her back. She followed Lyn over to the anvil, taking the woman's instruction to stand clear.

And then she began, bringing the hammer down again and again, sparks showering over the place where Hope might have stood if she hadn't been ordered otherwise. Beneath the blouse, muscles flexed, and it became increasingly clear that this woman was very good at her job.

The awe wore off when Hope found herself only speaking in snatches between the clangs of the hammer against the metal. "I—wanted to just ask—about a sword—for my lover—I need it—in a dis—a distinctive shape—I was thinking—maybe with four—four edges—"

Lyn stopped, looking at Hope with a raised brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, kind of like—" Hope rummaged through her pockets for the sketch she'd made after lifting a stick of graphite from a stall upon arriving into the city. It was smudged but still discernible, a recreation of a blade she'd only ever seen photographs of around the Armory.

 _The Phoenix Blade._

"See, it would leave a cross-shaped scar—"

"Was this a real blade?" asked Lyn, taking the parchment from Hope's hands to scrutinise it more closely. She dropped the hammer to the floor and focused all of her attention on the crude sketches.

"It was. It was destroyed, actually. I'm hoping to remake it."

Lyn's mouth hardened into a line. "What for?" she asked, returning her gaze to Hope's. Her dark, almost hooded eyes were more discerning than Hope anticipated.

"For my lover, like I said."

Lyn tipped her head back, gaze running over Hope. "You're lying to me," she said. "I can tell."

"You can—no, I really do want this blade—"

"You lied about its purpose. I know liars. Your name is a lie, this blade is a lie, and you are a lie." She threw the parchment back at Hope, but it fluttered to the ground. "Come back with the truth, or do not come back at all."

Hope swore under her breath, stooping down to pick up the paper. "Please, it really is for my lover. I want to gift it to him before I give birth—"

"Don't bring the babe in your belly into your lies. They didn't ask for it." Lyn turned back to her anvil, scooping the hammer up from the stone floor. "Leave, now."

"But—"

She whirled back on Hope, eyes hard. "I work with weapons all day, _human_. Do you really want to test me?"

Hope swallowed down the part of her that said, _Yes, fight me, come on, do it_ and instead said, "I'm sorry for wasting your time," tearing off the apron and stomping out.

* * *

Groaning, Hope sank onto the bed in the room she'd rented for the night.

That hadn't gone as planned.

She'd thought that if she waved some coin around, used the tantalising nature of an unusual blade, that maybe Lyn would agree. But she hadn't even pulled out her purse before the blacksmith refused her, hadn't gotten half-way into her carefully constructed lie before Lyn shut her down.

She needed someone that knew what they were doing, and there was no way Lyn was the only blacksmith working on armour and weaponry for the entire guard, was there? She had to have apprentices, even if they hadn't been there. The smithy had had multiple work surfaces, several aprons—it was kitted out for several workers. Maybe one of them would do it.

She knew they wouldn't. Lyn was in charge, and she wasn't the kind of person people went against.

But she needed someone good for this, someone she could work with. She may have only spent five minutes with the woman, but Hope could tell that Lyn was someone she could work with.

She just couldn't risk telling her the truth.

She'd promised Jora that she'd reforge hell, just for him. To do that, she needed a hellblade, one freshly-forged and ready for the hellstone she could make to go inside it.

She really needed Lyn on board. She just didn't know how to make that happen.

* * *

 _Then …_

The festivities became too much for Aeron once Josie got ahold of the sound system. Caroline looked ready to tell them all to calm down at the sight of his tense frame, but he shook his head, insisting that he just needed a walk to clear his head.

The air was crisp but not too cold, the snow having long ago melted to prepare for the looming spring. Aeron's footsteps crunched over the grass, carrying him over the field and away from the lights shining from the Armory windows, casting rectangles of gold on the green ground.

He arrived at the fence, freezing as he heard footsteps coming after him. He didn't have to look or breathe in the scent to know who it was.

"Had enough of the party?" asked Hope, leaning against the fence beside him.

"Just … needed a break."

Hope stared at him, undeterred by how he avoided her gaze. Sighing, she gripped the top of the fence in both hands, vaulting over it easily and landing lightly on the other side, entirely unruffled.

"You coming?" she asked, raising a hand out to him.

Considering his options, Aeron gripped the wood of the fence in his hands. The look on Hope's face was patient, but a tic in her jaw was reminiscent of her father.

Aeron took the offered hand, letting her help him over the fence. "Where are we going?" he asked once on the other side.

"Where do you think?" asked Hope, leading him into the woods. She hadn't let go of his hand.

They walked through the trees, eventually arriving at a place that was all too familiar.

Aeron paused, dropping Hope's hand and looking around. "This is—"

"Where you first landed, yeah," said Hope, sitting down with her back against a tree. She patted the ground beside her. "Join me?"

Aeron did as she requested, shuffling until he found a comfortable way to sit. "Why are we out here?"

"I thought it might be nice to revisit it," said Hope. "It's only been a year since we were last here together. It's nice, isn't it?"

Aeron tipped his head back, looking up at the stars. "When you're not bleeding out, yeah."

Hope didn't find the joke amusing. "That's not happening to you again."

"You can't know that for sure."

"I know you were super freaked out when you got here, thinking that they were going to come after you—whoever _they_ are. But now you know that they couldn't if they tried."

She was right; he hadn't worried about the monster coming for him in a long time, not since he'd realised how powerful the wards were, how strong the people inside it could be. "I guess."

"So that's not happening again," said Hope, very matter-of-factly. "Just enjoy the stars. You spent long enough away from them."

Yet again, she was right. Aeron settled back against the tree more comfortably, shoulder-to-shoulder with Hope, and looked up at the stars.

* * *

 **I know it was short, but I have lots planned for this volume, I promise. Act II headed your way by the 21st of September!**

 **Feedback is appreciated! I'm also currently taking prompts for shorter on Tumblr, so if you guys want to see anything in particular regarding your favourite ships, just let me know flo-lore-writes.**


	3. Act II

**I'm so sorry for the wait on this one! I was sick, then I was busy, and now I'm sick again. But hopefully the next act will come sooner!**

* * *

ACT TWO

 _The Air Between Us_

 _Eight years ago …_

Aeron's feet crunched through the grass, his feet sweeping through the tendrils of mist that dragged over the field like streaks of pulled cotton.

It had become a tradition, meeting up with Hope in the woods. Aeron found it comforting, and he assumed Hope did as well. There was nothing maudlin or macabre about the place anymore, seeing where he'd bled beneath the stars, as happier memories had succeeded it, replaced it, usurped it until all that remained was the knowledge of his own safety.

Hope was already there when Aeron arrived that night. He wasn't sure what her parents thought of them leaving the safety of the wards to walk out here every night, but he guessed they were closely observed by someone, and he had his charm bracelet after all. There wasn't much trouble he could get into that that wouldn't pick up.

"Took you long enough," Hope needled him as he approached. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground where he'd first fallen, a space cleared of leaves or twigs long ago to make room for them both to sit.

"I was finishing up a chapter." Aeron sat beside her, folding his wings away so he could rest with his back directly against the tree trunk and not spear her with a protruding talon. She smelled like cherry soda, he noted absently. Okay, not absently, he noted it very presently and in a way he wasn't likely to forget, but he preferred to play it cool, saying instead, "You've been drinking contraband." They weren't allowed soda during the week, some sort of health reform Caroline had instituted a month ago forbidding it.

"I did more than just drink it," she said, her grin electric in the moonlight. "I brought you some." She pulled a can from her pocket, dropping it into Aeron's lap.

He palmed it, finding it warmer than he'd like but not bad, all things considered. It was his favourite brand, too, which was odd, because Hope preferred another. "Thank you," he said, cracking it open. It had taken him a while to learn how to open a can, and when he finally had it had been one that Josie had tampered with earlier, leading to him with a face full of fizzy soda and Josie with a clipped ear courtesy of her mother.

He still always expected them to explode on him, which was probably why Hope was eyeing him amusedly.

"I didn't rig it to explode," she said. "Just drink your soda."

Aeron leaned back, taking a sip. It was almost sickly sweet, but he'd gotten used to that. What had once made him ill now made him happy, though that may not have been the soda's influence alone.

After he'd taken a few sips Hope took the can, swigging from it herself. "What book are you reading?" she asked, smacking her lips.

"One of the sci-fi ones from Kol. He says it's good. I'm still waiting for that to be true."

Hope snorted. "Uncle Kol has terrible taste in literature. Anything with a sexy robot or a bomb going off is his all-time favourite for a week. You'd be better off reading Caroline's chick lit."

"I have, and it is better." It was true. Caroline's two-dollar romance novel collection had made for one of the best months of reading he'd had so far. "Give me my soda back."

"Hey, I smuggled it in for you," Hope argued, but let him take it anyway.

Aeron paused with the rim of it at his lips. "You mean you had Uncle Elijah smuggle it in for you." _Or for me, because it's my favourite_.

Hope pouted at him as he drank from the can—then, faster than his eyes could track, she reached over and flicked the bottom of the can, making him spill the soda down his front.

"Oi!" he cried indignantly. "Rude!"

Hope laughed. "Serves you right for not—ugh!" She looked down at her T-shirt, the sodden, rose-pink material of which had once been white. "Stop wasting perfectly good soda, you heathen."

"You started it."

"Yeah, well Dad and Caroline are gonna finish it when they smell it all over us." Hope sighed, picking at the wet mess of her T-shirt. "Here," she said, reaching over and putting a hand to the stain on his shirt. " _Odor celare."_

Warmth spread through Aeron's chest, there and then gone. "What was that?" he asked, something unfamiliar sparking through his veins.

"A spell to hide the scent." Hope proceeded to do the same thing to her own shirt. "You can get away with anything if you have the right spell."

"I wouldn't know."

"You don't do much magic, do you?"

"I try to avoid it if I can."

"Why?"

"Because it's the one thing I'm trained in, but I wasn't trained to use it nicely." It was best to be frank with Hope. It wasn't like she didn't know his history.

"So because your mom was a dick that trained you to kill, you can't experiment with your magic for anything? Not even getting away with drinking cherry soda?"

"I didn't really want to try."

Hope was quiet for a moment. "Do you think that if you try to use magic, you'll hurt someone?"

"I don't know what to think about my magic, Hope. It's only had one purpose before."

"A purpose that died with your mother."

"Potentially, but still. That doesn't change the fact that the foundation of my magical training is to maim, torture, and kill."

"I guess." She went quiet, and Aeron wondered if he'd said something wrong. "We should be getting back inside. I have class early tomorrow, and now I've got to shower again."

"Yeah, okay."

They walked back through the field together, slipping into the Armory without being seen. The plan was to not let anyone spot the stains on their shirts or the empty can Hope was hiding under her bundled up sweatshirt, but Aeron didn't know how that would work for her.

He, on the other hand, bid Hope goodnight and winnowed straight up to his room. He stood stock-still in the moonlight for a moment, his hand resting on his chest, right where he could still feel Hope's spell like a living thing passing over his skin.

* * *

 _Now …_

'Stalking' was a predatory term, and one that Hope would definitely eschew if asked. But it was something she was quite proficient at, all told, and something she had done before.

It wasn't malevolent, she told herself as she jumped the two-feet gap between one ledge and another, picking her way across the Adriata rooftops. Below, Lyn walked along clad in bulky workclothes, happily strolling in the early morning sun on her way for another full day of work. She'd eaten already, the scent of fresh fruit on her breath reaching Hope from where she was following her, cloaked, and she wouldn't leave the smithy until noon when she took a half hour break for lunch.

Hope was well accustomed to Lyn's schedule. It wasn't creepy, she reassured herself. She just needed to know everything she could about that woman in order to convince her to forge a hellblade for her.

Lyn arrived at the smithy on time, meeting two of her apprentices there. They followed her inside, not hearing Hope land on the roof spryly.

And thus her watch began.

She listened to Lyn fumbling around with tools inside, instructing her apprentices, answering questions and delegating tasks to them. Apparently they'd finished with the week's order from the guard and had a new focus, one that wasn't stated but for it's title: "Ren's Project".

Ren's Project involved leather work, apparently, and one of the apprentices was dispatched to fetch what they needed from a tailor nearby. Lyn worked closely with the other apprentice, a reedy-voiced male, in constructing something out of iron that clanged and groaned as they hammered it into whatever shape they wanted.

The other apprentice returned, and they went quiet for a while, only the sound of a needle rasping through leather and the metal parts being welded together penetrating the tense quiet.

They took a break for lunch, longer than Lyn normally did, and they walked away from the workshop to do it. Hope considered following them, but the conversation had turned inane and she wasn't going to gather anything worthwhile from that.

Instead, she unlocked the empty smithy with a quick spell and ducked inside. If she couldn't charm Lyn into working with her, maybe blackmail would work. But for that, she needed something good …

The workshop was exactly as it had been the last time Hope visited. Quieter, to be certain, but the blasting heat from the furnace was still a present reminder that they wouldn't be gone for long enough to let the heat die down too much.

Hope found a smaller room in the back, one partially shielded from the heat. In it was a small desk littered with papers, all designs for weapons and armour. She didn't know who'd drawn them, but they had a good eye, whoever they were.

Finding nothing of use there, Hope resigned herself to returning to her post on the rooftop. She'd almost made it out when she spotted their project on the bench.

It was roughly the size of her arm, a metal frame with leather padding sewn either side of it. There were hinges exposed in one place, not to pull the whole thing apart but to pinch it together tighter after it had been slipped on.

Hope picked it up, sliding her arm in as she tried to figure it out. It was almost like a brace for her elbow, but the angle was wrong. If she pinched it shut it would allow for some movement, but not enough to leave her with good mobility in that arm.

But it wasn't for an arm, she realised. By the make of it, it was a leg brace. And by its size, it had to be for someone small.

Ren's project was a leg brace. Why was the city's greatest blacksmith making a leg brace for a child?

Confused, Hope slipped her arm from the brace and set it down as it had been, retreating back to her post on the roof.

* * *

 _Then …_

"Are you ready?" Caroline called up, squinting up at him. The sun was just in her eyeline, so she shaded her eyes with the back of a hand.

Aeron nodded, though he wasn't sure that was true. He gripped the rope harder, leaning back a little. The swimming hole was emptied of all people, only he and Caroline there in their swimsuits. It was a warmer day than they'd had for a while, but that didn't mean that the water wouldn't still be freezing cold.

All the more reason to keep out of it, he told himself.

Leaning back just a fraction more, Aeron took a deep breath then swung forward, hands on the rope. He reached the apex of the rope's swing, right where he should have let go and dropped into the water, but instead he flung his wings wide, flapping as hard as he could with muscles still sore from the last attempt.

This time, he stayed in place, hovering as his wings beat air down onto the water beneath him, making it ripple in protest.

Looking across to the shore, Aeron met Caroline's gaze, finding her eyes shining with something like tears. She gave him a thumbs up, grin wide, and motioned for him to fly back towards her.

That was where things got a little more difficult.

Aeron made it maybe five feet before pitching down into the water, finding it just as cold as he'd anticipated. He used his wings to propel him through it and to the shore, letting Caroline grip his hand and pull him up onto the slippery rock.

"That was great!" she said.

"It wasn't that much better than last time," Aeron said, shaking his hair out and grabbing the towel Caroline offered him.

"Bullshit it wasn't. You stayed in the air for longer, and you looked more confident, besides." She picked up another towel, slinging it over his shoulders as he dried his hair. It was getting long, long enough that Rebekah would appear with scissors in hand if he looked at in the mirror for too long.

"Do you want to go for another round?" Caroline asked.

Aeron shook his head. "My back's already sore. It's probably not best to tempt fate, else I'll pay the price tomorrow."

"Good choice," she praised, tossing his flip-flops toward him. The parking lot where the car was was about a ten-minute walk along a hiking trail, and it'd be best not to make it with bare feet. "We can come back in a few days, if you want. I'll check my schedule."

"Sounds good," said Aeron, following her into the woods.

* * *

They drove along, the engine's hum almost lulling Aeron to sleep. He'd long since gotten over the sickness that driving gave him, opting instead to enjoy it.

Well, usually he enjoyed it. Now, he had something to bring up. "I, uh, I was wondering something."

Caroline glanced at him. "Hit me."

"I haven't really been working on my magic since I got here. I was wondering if it would be okay if I … did a little. Nothing major, I mean—"

"Hang on," said Caroline, finding a good place to pull to a halt on the side of the road. She left the car idling, turning to face Aeron. "I thought you didn't do magic because of things that happened with Amarantha. I didn't know it was because you thought you weren't allowed."

"Well, I know it's not forbidden, I just thought I'd ask. To be polite."

Caroline sighed. "You don't ever have to ask for permission to be yourself, okay? I appreciate the gesture, but please don't. If you're asking if there's somewhere safe and quiet for you to practice, I can find somewhere, and if you're asking if someone can be there with you, I'll figure that out, too. But don't ask if you're allowed. You're always allowed."

"But you know what I've used my magic for in the past."

"I know what you've been used for in the past, Aeron. Your magic was just a part of that deal. That's not all you are, so it's not all your magic can do."

Aeron snorted. "Are you sure about that?"

Caroline put a hand on his shoulder. "I've seen a lot of kids in a lot of bad positions do a lot of incredible things. Something tells me you're no exception."

"And if I am?"

"Then we'll wait a few years till you're not as sensitive about it and then we'll tease you for it for all eternity." Her smile was just like Josie's, all unbridled joy and mirth. Odd, given that they weren't biologically related. "Everything will be okay, Aeron. Just let me see to that."

"Okay. And … somewhere quiet and safe would be nice. And I don't really want to be alone."

"Do you want me to see if Freya has some time to work with you? There are other people, but something tells me she'll be a good fit. If not, you can always take a trip to New Orleans for a while. Some of our problem students find Vincent Griffith helpful."

Aeron had heard of Vincent. He was the Witch Regent of New Orleans, and a close friend of Marcel's. Much as a trip to New Orleans sounded great, he wasn't sure he wanted to try this with someone new. "Freya sounds good for now."

"Okay," said Caroline, turning back to the road and flicking on her indicator. "I'll have a chat with her."

* * *

 _Now …_

Lyn had one day off per week.

The week before, she'd spent it at the marketplace, stopping by a food stall that smelled completely rank. She bought something from it, some sort of fish, but had thrown it out on her way down the street.

This time, the second time Hope had followed Lyn to the marketplace, she found the blacksmith taking the same route toward the same stall once more. Lyn was dressed in loose plain clothes, though she still had several layers on her top half.

Scent cloaked, Hope followed along with a hood over her head, blending in among the crowd of lesser fae. She watched Lyn stop at the stall, order the same thing, and drop some coins into the bowl. The lesser fae that ran the stall thanked her profusely.

Hope waited until Lyn had turned the corner, then ambled up to the stall. She dropped the same number of coins into the bowl, accepting the same fish on a skewer that Lyn had gotten.

As she walked away, she saw the lesser fae grab a slip of paper from the bowl, hidden away among the coins.

The fish was foul, so Hope tossed it away just as Lyn had, taking a moment to locate the woman again.

She did, finding Lyn headed straight back to her home. She hadn't even stopped to buy anything else. She purchased a fish she didn't eat from a stall with terrible service, and the stall owner had received some manner of message, presumably from Lyn.

Just what the hell was going on here?

* * *

Hope followed Lyn to work the next day, listening in as she and the apprentices made quick work of their order from the guard.

The Captain of the Guard, Prince Varian, visited in the afternoon. From what Hope could tell from her vantage point, he was a regal-looking male, his voice deep and commanding. Lyn's was higher in pitch but no less forceful as they bickered over the new design for the arm-guards.

"Tarquin wants the new design for at least the inner members of the guard. There's another Gathering with the other High Lords soon, and he doesn't want to bring guard with shoddy armour."

"None of my work is ever _shoddy,_ Varian. We don't even use that word in this workshop. The arm guards they have are perfectly fine, and this new design is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous how, Lyn? You're being paid to deliver good quality items, and you'll be paid in full for this. Double, if you get the order done in a week."

"It's ridiculous because it's frivolous and unnecessary, and chances are this design will weaken the structural integrity of the guard. They're more bracelets than armour."

'Then make them thicker."

"I don't want to make them thicker, Varian. They're good as they are now. The detailing is fine, the presentation is fine, and this is ridiculous. If you want something fancy, ask a leatherworker."

Hope had to actively focus on not tuning out the rest of the argument. It was so inane, but there was something familiar in Lyn's tone with the prince, something about how neither of their heart rates changed the slightest as they all but yelled at each other … Hope began wondering just what Lyn's position was here, because she certainly wasn't just a blacksmith.

* * *

That night, Hope picked her way across the rooftops after Lyn, puffing a little with the exertion. Her middle was just starting to get thicker, enough to impede her clambering, and she was almost always tired. She had begun to wonder if it wasn't time to just give up on Lyn entirely and find someone else.

But she wanted the best. She wanted Lyn.

Lyn, who was walking at a slightly brisker pace than usual, perhaps because she was still bothered by her argument with the prince. Varian hadn't been happy with her refusal, eventually offering her three times the price of the usual order to get it done. Hope found it odd that over the course of their debate not once did the prince threaten to take his business elsewhere. The meaning was implicit; Lyn was the best there was, and no one else would be outfitting the guard.

Hope pondered the implications of this dynamic as she jumped from one rooftop to another, carefully avoiding loose tiles and rusted gutters. Her boots were worn from all the climbing, and she'd need new ones soon.

Below, Lyn buried her head deeper in her cloak and doubled her pace, forcing Hope to do the same.

Perhaps it was because she was distracted by the argument she'd overheard earlier. Perhaps it was because she could feel the baby's heartbeat shuddering inside her to the beat of her own footsteps. Perhaps it was because she was doing too much, too fast.

Whatever it was, the end result was the same. Hope didn't notice the two figures ghosting along after Lyn until it was too late.

* * *

 _Eight years ago …_

It was a warmer night than there had been for a while. Winter was thawing, and though the air was cool enough to sting his skin Aeron could no longer see his breath billowing in front of his face like smoke from the maw of a dragon. It made the trips he took to the woods that much more pleasant, though he hadn't thought that was possible with Hope at his side. Good conversation (or any conversation with her) quickly made him forget his surroundings, so it surprised him that the shift in weather pleased him so much.

Aeron arrived before Hope that night. It happened sometimes, if she got caught up painting with Klaus or going over old spells with Freya. It wasn't Wednesday, the night when Hayley and Elijah always called to talk for a few hours, so she should be there soon.

He hoped.

* * *

The hope was in vain. Time slipped by and still no Hope arrived to see him. While they didn't sit out there every night, it had become enough of a tradition that he'd assumed she would tell him if she wasn't coming.

No, she was coming. He just had to wait.

He waited for another hour, perhaps more, before he heard footsteps approaching. He knew they weren't Hope's—could tell from the heaviness of the sneaker-clad footfalls, the sharp tangerine scent—but he still stood to greet the newcomer.

"Lizzie," he said, eyeing her. She was dressed from head to toe in exercise gear, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. Lizzie often took to training in the night, sometimes with her father, other times just with the dummies and punching bags in the school gym. "What are you doing here?"

"I went by your room to invite you to train with me," she panted. "Mom said you might be interested sometime. But you weren't there."

"Uh, yeah. I usually come out here with Hope."

"I know that," she said, sounding almost offended. "I just thought you'd stay in tonight because she's on a date with David."

"She's on a date?" Aeron hoped the disappointment wasn't evident in his tone. It wasn't that Hope was dating—he knew she was—it was more that he thought she'd tell him.

Apparently, Lizzie thought the same. "She didn't tell you? Weird." She narrowed her gaze. "So you've just been waiting out here for her? It's almost 11."

"I thought she would come," said Aeron, something angry welling in his chest. "Obviously, she isn't. I'll just go."

"You sure you don't want to come train with me? You look like you could use some tiring out."

"I'm not really interested in fighting, but thanks." He walked past her, headed back towards the lights of the house.

"Wait," said Lizzie, halting him in his tracks. "You seem upset. Was it something I said?"

Aeron pivoted back to face her. "No, it's … nothing. I should be getting to bed."

Something in Lizzie's gaze stopped him from departing. She seemed hesitant, if a little irritated. "I … I know we don't talk that much," she began. "I'm not as interesting as Hope, or as bouncy as Josie. But I never meant to make you feel like you couldn't spend time with me. With just me, I mean."

It was true that Aeron had never really spent time with Lizzie alone. She was always with Josie, or passing along the hall surrounded by other people. She wasn't as quiet when she was alone, he'd found. "I didn't think you did mean to do that. I guess we just … don't spend as much time together. I don't know why."

"It's because we're not do-ers. Not like Hope and Josie." She shifted on her feet. "But, if you want … we can stay out here for a bit. And I can come and keep you company on the nights that Hope's not here."

Aeron tried to hide his wince. This was a sacred space to him—the place he'd first seen his mate. It wasn't that he didn't like Lizzie or want to spend time with her, but it wouldn't be the same. He wasn't just coming out here to _be_ out here. It was about Hope. "You know, I've never been trained to fight," he began. "I'm not sure that I want to, but it might be nice to try and build up my strength a bit. We could start meeting at the gym sometimes?"

Lizzie nodded. "Sounds good to me."

They shared a small smile. "It's a deal, then," said Aeron. "Let's go back—"

Something moved behind Lizzie, something made of shadow. Before Aeron could even find the breath to speak, it struck, knocking her down.

Rage exploded inside him at the tangy, copper scent of her blood. He leapt forward. " _No—"_

The shadow knocked the breath from him, sending him flying. He tried to scream for Caroline, but nothing left his mouth. He struggled as hard as he could, throwing out his power and trying to shirk the darkness, but it claimed him too, sending him into black.

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope's heart pounded in her ears as she plastered herself into the tiled rooftop, watching the scene unfolding below. Two men picked their way after an oblivious Lyn, their intentions clear.

They were going to attack.

Hope had moments to make a decision. She shouldn't get involved, shouldn't do anything to draw more attention to herself. But she needed Lyn, and if Lyn owed her …

There was also the small matter of it being the right thing to do.

Decision made, Hope shimmied her way down a drain pipe, dropping to the ground in a roll. She pulled a dagger from her boot and double-checked her cloaking charm before charging into the street, letting the dagger fly.

It hit its target—the hand stretched out toward Lyn—making the man grunt and pull it back. Finally, Lyn noticed the danger, but not before the second man was upon her.

Hope dealt with the first quickly, reaching around his neck and snapping it before he could even look at her. She dove for the second, stopping short just in time as she saw the glint of a blade against Lyn's neck.

"I know you're there," said the man, voice low and guttural. "You can't hide forever."

Hope shifted under the cloaking spell, trying to weigh her options. She could sneak around behind him to attack, but the dagger was still lodged in his companion's hand. She couldn't retrieve it without giving away her position.

Magic it was, then.

Uncloaking herself, Hope saw the moment Lyn recognised her. The woman's hands gripped the blade at her neck, blood welling from gashes on her palms and the pads of her fingers.

"Let her go," said Hope. "Let her go, and I'll make it a quick death."

The man laughed. His eyes were a pallid yellow, his skin a deep, emerald blue. "You can kill me however you like, witch," he said. "More will come for you. For her."

"Why her?"

"Jora wants to know the same," he said. "Why beg a blacksmith for help, witch? What could she possibly do for you?"

"And you think I'll answer that?"

"Doesn't matter. You'll be dead one way or another."

Hope locked eyes with Lyn, who had tears shining in her eyes as she tried desperately to free herself. "You can't kill me. You're under orders not to even touch me."

"I can kill your blacksmith, though, can't I?" He readjusted his grip, straight white teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

"You could," said Hope, trying to sound unaffected. "You won't, though."

"How do you know that, hmm?"

Hope grinned right back at him. "I just know these things."

She summoned the sword to her, pulling it from his grip and letting it clatter to the ground between them. Just as he tried to place his hands around Lyn's throat, she sent an aneurysm spell at him, watching him double over in pain.

Lyn stepped out of the way quickly, almost tripping over the other dead body. Hope barely noticed her, advancing towards the man with her hand outstretched, keeping the spell just strong enough to pain him but not enough to kill.

"You can't hurt anyone," said Hope, "not without my permission. You're all useless, after all. I've killed the best of you. I've killed better than you. I've killed more men more thoroughly with my bare hands than you could with your flimsy metal sticks, so no, you won't hurt her, and you won't hurt anyone. Ever again."

She snapped his neck.

Silence reigned, punctuated only be the thudding of Hope's heart and the shuddered breaths coming from Lyn.

Hope ducked down to retrieve her dagger, wiping it on one of the corpses. "Are you all right?"

"Who the fuck were they?" demanded Lyn, voice pitching a little high. "What have you gotten me involved with? What even _are_ you?"

"A witch, obviously," said Hope. Her attacker had said so multiple times. "Go back to your home. I'll join you in an hour."

"What if more come? He said more were coming—"

Hope picked up the sword, slick with blood from Lyn's hands, and dropped it into her grip. She hissed in pain, but didn't drop it. "Take this and defend yourself, then. You've made enough weapons to know how it works. I have to clear the bodies before people notice." It was a deserted street, thank god. Hope wasn't interested in killing any more people than she had to.

"Why were they after you?"

Hope turned away from her, gripping one of the bodies and slinging it over her shoulder. "Go home. I'll explain everything when I get there."

"You know where I live?"

"I know everything. Go."

Hope didn't stay to see if Lyn departed, too busy running through possible places to dump the bodies in her head.

* * *

Bodies dumped in a deserted, boggy inlet, Hope cleaned herself up and made her way to Lyn's home. She'd taken longer than she thought, and could only hope that Lyn wouldn't have run off just yet.

Hope let herself in by a window and an unlocking charm, locking it after her and drawing the drapes closed. She tried to make noise as she approached Lyn in the sitting room, but the woman still jumped when she saw her.

"Took you long enough," Lyn bit out. Hope was surprised that she was still there, truth be told. She clutched the now clean sword in her bandaged hands, candles and lanterns dotted all around her home to illuminate the entire space. Hope knew from observing her that she preferred to keep the house mostly dark at night, so the newfound determination to see every inch of the place must have been anxiety related.

"Bodies are hard to carry through the city undetected." Hope collapsed into the chair opposite Lyn. It was a nicer interior than she'd have thought, given Lyn's overall attitude. The house had two storeys, several unoccupied bedrooms, a large kitchen and this, a nicely outfitted sitting room with plushy chairs and a mahogany table.

"Don't tell me where you buried them."

"I wasn't planning on it." Hope shrugged out of her cloak, draping it over the side of the chair. Her stomach was more obvious without the bulk of fabric in the way, slowly pressing out against the leather of her vest.

Lyn's eyes were drawn to it. "You fight like that while pregnant?"

"Why not?" asked Hope. She knew her mother had done worse while pregnant with her. It wasn't unprecedented.

Lyn accepted the non-answer. "Why did you really approach me about that blade? What is its true purpose?"

"Complicated. Why didn't you fight back against those men?"

"They were fae."

Hope rolled her eyes. " _Males_ , then. Why didn't you fight them?"

"Should I be able to fight? I make swords; I don't wield them."

"I'm not asking why you didn't fight because you're a blacksmith," said Hope, leaning back in her chair. "I'm asking why you didn't fight because you're Illyrian."

* * *

 **The next act is due the 8th of October. Let me know what you thought! Reviews do make the writing go faster, I promise. It's not a myth.**


	4. Act III

**The next act! Unbeta'd.**

* * *

ACT THREE

 _From Silence_

 _Eight years ago …_

For someone born and raised in darkness, Aeron should not have been this unnerved by it.

But it was with panic that he greeted the darkness upon opening his eyes; it was with terror that he pulled at the restraints that tied his hands behind his back until his wrists were surely bruised with the effort.

"Aeron?" asked a familiar voice. Lizzie. "Aeron, are you there?"

Aeron groaned, still pulling on his restraints. "Where are we?"

"I don't know," said Lizzie. "But I don't have any magic built up. I can't get us out of here." Unless she found a magical source she could use, that is, but it was unlikely that Aeron's would be useful. She had no experience with Prythian magic.

"What happened?"

"We were attacked outside the boundary. I've only been awake for an hour or so, and no one's come by. I think we're in a cell, though. There's a door to your left that I found when I was feeling around, but it's too solid to budge. Can you hear anything?"

Aeron tried to attune his senses, but to no avail. "I can hear your heartbeat, your breathing, but nothing else."

"So there's no one there?"

"No. There's always sound—breeze, ants, creaking floorboards resettling, anything. There just nothing but dead silence."

"So someone's blocking you from hearing anything outside the cell."

"Seems like." Aeron tried to pull on his restraints again, panic rising in his chest. He hadn't been bound in so long, hadn't been kept in the dark like this—

"Aeron," said Lizzie, sharp tone cutting through the haze settling over him. "Are you with me? You sound like you're hyperventilating."

Aeron tried to speak, but nothing came out. His arms trembled with the effort of fighting the steel around his wrists, muscles along his back straining as he pulled. "I can't, I can't—"

"Aeron, it's okay. You're okay. Just breathe. Just—"

Everything faded but his heartbeat in his ears, his shuddering breath into the darkness. He couldn't do this again, not anymore, not like this—

Lizzie's attempts to calm him failed utterly, leaving him in a darkness of an entirely different sort.

* * *

 _Now …_

"How did you know I was Illyrian?" demanded Lyn, eyes blazing with the light from the fireplace. "I never told you that. You've never seen my wings."

"It's more than just the wings," said Hope. She'd seen fae that looked like a variety of races she's seen among humans, and more besides, but the only ones she'd seen with features like Lyn's (and Aeron's) were the Illyrians in the Night Court. "There's the scent, for one. You look like one, though I suppose you could convince others that you're lesser fae with Illyrian roots. And you always wear bulky shirts, as though concealing something on your back."

"What would you know about Illyrians, anyway?"

"Enough to be pregnant with one." Anything she could use to leverage assistance from Lyn, she would. "My mate is Illyrian."

"Mate?" Lyn looked vaguely ill. "You said lover when you first came to me about the sword."

"The blade is for someone else, actually. Someone that deserves it buried in their heart."

"Jora?" At the look of surprise on Hope's face, she rolled her eyes. "You're not the only one capable of inferring things. The male that attacked me mentioned Jora, and people coming after you. But they came for me. Why? Because they think I'm making this sword for you?"

"They know nothing about the sword. I assume they wanted to know what I was doing with you, what I'd told you, all that."

"What could you have told me that would require my assassination?"

"Assassination? There's no need to be dramatic. The blade was only at your throat for a minute or so."

Lyn shot to her feet, incensed. "They were trying to _kill_ me because of you. Don't tell me not to be dramatic."

"All right, fine, my bad." Hope leaned back in her chair. "Though I would have thought you'd be used to the danger by now, being a spy and all."

Lyn's gaze snapped to hers, hard as the steel she worked with. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, good, it's true. Thank you for confirming it." Hope smirked. "An Illyrian spy in the middle of the Summer Court, working for Rhysand's Spymaster, no doubt. And you're so very close with the prince of the city."

"I'm not sure I appreciate what you're implying—"

"I _imply_ nothing," spat Hope. "All I have are the facts. You drop messages to vendors at the markets, hide your true nature, and for what? You could have no purpose here but a malicious one. I wonder what Prince Varian would think of the wings you keep strapped to your back, of what they say about your loyalties."

"So you intend to blackmail me, is that it?" asked Lyn.

"I intend to get what I need, no matter what I have to do. And what I need is a blade forged with hell itself. Will you help me?"

Lyn pressed her lips together, standing stock-still. When she moved it was to unbutton her blouse, shucking it off quickly to reveal a lighter shirt underneath—a shirt with straps criss-crossing over her front. She unsnapped them, shaking off some contraption that let her wings spring free.

They were glorious.

Not as large as some that Hope had seen, but entirely unscarred. Aeron's were a mottled mess of scarring, as were Azriel's, but these were unblemished. She seemed relieved to be able to stretch them, but there was no sign of pain at having them strapped to her all day.

"Comfortable?" Hope asked.

"Very." She shook her wings out a few more times before grabbing a stool from the side of the room and dragging it in front of Hope. She perched on it, wings flung wide. "If I'm going to hear whatever farcical tale you're about to try and spin for me, I'll be doing it comfortably."

"What makes you think I'll be telling you anything?"

"You're desperate for my help, and my help comes at a price. The price is the truth. Give it to me, and I'll help you."

"You will? How do I know you're not just lying to me?"

"I don't lie," said Lyn, voice firm. "I manipulate the truth to my advantage, but I don't lie. Speak the truth or leave."

Hope took a deep breath, preparing herself to lie like she'd never lied before.

* * *

"And that's about it," Hope concluded. "Any questions?"

Lyn rubbed at her temples. "Let me just make certain I have this correct," she began. "Your mate once worked for Jora, who was a supporter of Amarantha during her reign. Now that she's dead, Jora is trying to amass soldiers, and he wants Aeron to help him. He is currently hunting you so that he can use your child to blackmail Aeron into helping him. Correct?"

"Yes."

"And where is Aeron in all of this?"

"He's away. He doesn't even know I'm pregnant. I'm all alone here, and my only option is to have a weapon that I can use against him."

"But you've killed other fae, like the ones in the alley. It isn't just ash that kills us—our spines can snap, our blood can leave us. Why forge a blade for him?"

"Because these blades are an exquisite torture like no other, and Jora deserves nothing less."

"But you could settle for just lopping his head off."

Hope grew aggravated. "I promised him that I would specifically forge a hell for his soul after I kill him. I'm not breaking that promise."

"So, to clarify, you're seeking my help because you promised a madman the ultimate punishment and now you feel that you can't go back on your word."

"Yes."

"You realise you can just kill him. Failing to follow through isn't a sign of weakness. We both know you can take him on."

"I don't know that much about him," Hope explained. "He's powerful, more powerful than I've seen. Amarantha relied on him so heavily, I can't … I can't be sure of anything but this blade."

Lyn went quiet, her eyes glazing over as she processed it. "Fine," she said. "I'll make your bloody blade. But just how does it become a hellblade?"

Hope let a grin slip onto her face. "That's where I come in."

* * *

 _Then …_

Aeron woke to a screech and a flash of light so bright it was blinding.

Blinking the sleep away, he tried to sit up, finding himself pushed down by strong, seeking hands.

"What are you doing?" demanded Lizzie, voice pitched high. "Don't touch him!"

"You'll get your turn, bitch," said a gruff, male voice from somewhere over Aeron's shoulder. "First we need to have a conversation with your brother here. He looks like a real mama's boy."

"Wait," said Lizzie. "You want to know about my mom? He can't tell you anything."

"Lizzie, stop," Aeron wheezed as he was hauled up.

"He's not my brother!" yelled Lizzie. "He's just a charity case. He doesn't know shit about my family. If you want information, just ask me. I'll tell you what you need to know."

"Nice try, bitch—"

"Wait." A smooth voice, male but young. Aeron couldn't see who it belonged to, could hardly see anything through the haze of panic. "Leave the boy. Bring her instead."

"No," Aeron protested, but to no avail as he was slammed into the ground, leaving the men that had been carrying him free to go for Lizzie. "No, no, just leave her, she's lying—"

"Shut up," hissed Lizzie, steel in her voice that he'd never heard before. "The only thing you're good for is bleeding."

With that, she was whisked away, leaving Aeron alone in the darkness.

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope walked Lyn to and from her work every day. They barely spoke to one another, existing in a begrudging sort of silence. Lyn owed Hope for saving her life; Hope owed Lyn for making the sword, and for being the reason her life was at risk to start with.

All told, Hope owed Lyn a great deal more than she was comfortable with.

"The sword will be done this afternoon," said Lyn one morning. "Come by once the apprentices leave."

"I'll sneak in by a back window."

Lyn eyed her belly where it pressed against her shirt. "A doorway best suits you these days."

Hope rolled her eyes and ducked into an alley, watching Lyn stroll up to the smithy alone. They tried not to be seen together, but Hope didn't hold out much … well, hope. Lyn knew she followed her down to the markets when she dropped her messages off to the stall with the terrible fish, but this was the price she paid for Hope's own stupidity. (As she reminded her on several occasions.)

Unable to clamber up onto rooftops as easily given the progression of her pregnancy, Hope was left with little to occupy herself while Lyn was at work. She walked the city, ate at some of the places she'd found to be not altogether horrid, and spent the majority of her time wishing to be anywhere else.

Inside her, the baby had begun to flutter.

* * *

Hope returned by the back door, as recommended. She wanted to sneak in by a window just to prove Lyn wrong, but it wasn't worth falling flat on her face or getting stuck in the window-frame.

Lyn was waiting for her, eating a little tea cake daintily and in a way that was almost profane in her current state, sweaty and dirtied with soot. "Took you long enough."

"Well, as you love to remind me, I don't move like I used to." Hope rested a hand on her belly subconsciously. "Well? Where is it?"

Lyn sucked the last of the cake's crumbs off her fingers and pushed off from the wall she'd been leaning against. She disappeared into the storeroom, reappearing with a sword in a triangular scabbard.

"You made a scabbard for it too?" Hope asked, eyeing it.

"You can't run around with it in your hand all the time," Lyn said tersely. "And yes, I did make one. And you'd best be grateful because it was not easy with this design. Why do you need it so odd anyway?"

 _Because I need it to leave a distinctive scar if I'm going to track my victims with it._ "It's a part of the spell, I suppose. But you said you were only doing three edges?"

Lyn drew the sword, letting it glint in the late afternoon light. "I wanted to use the last of the Illyrian steel I have but there wasn't enough for four edges like in the sketch. I've tested it, and they're strong enough. Making them come to a point at the tip was a pain in the arse."

"Here's hoping the tip pains more than just your arse." Hope reached for the sword only to have it jerked out of her reach by Lyn.

"How do I know I'll be safe here once you leave with this?" asked Lyn. "I've already had people come after me once. You can't walk me to and from work if you're off hunting Jora."

"I can give you a protection charm or something. Put wards up at your home. Maybe you can ask Prince Varian to teach you how to defend yourself."

"When will you ward my home?"

"I don't know—when I have the magic."

"You don't have it now?"

"I have plenty, but I'm using it for the hellstone. I still have to spell the stone I found, and it's gonna take a lot out of me."

"How do I know you'll stay long enough to regain your strength and put wards up for me?"

"You can't know that for sure; you'll just have to trust me." Hope extended her hand, waiting for the sword.

Lyn held her gaze as she sheathed the sword, pressing it into Hope's grip. "I'll hold you to that."

Hope smiled, the weight of the blade in her hands making the world feel just that bit brighter. "I'd expect nothing less."

* * *

 _Then …_

 _The only thing you're good for is bleeding._

Aeron's head spun, stomach roiling as he tried to cling onto something, anything to keep him present, to keep him sane. But all he heard was Lizzie's voice, again and again.

 _The only thing you're good for is bleeding._

It made no sense. It contributed nothing to their circumstances, given that she'd gone out of her way to take his pain, his punishment. She'd put herself in the line of fire, so why that particularly cruel parting shot?

Frustrated, he tugged at his bonds again, crying out as his bruised wrists took the pressure of the cuffs once more.

On his right arm, something cool pressed against the bruise. Something lighter than the cuffs, something that rasped and tinkled against them when he sat back.

His bracelet.

The bracelet spelled by Davina and Hope. The bracelet he only had to bleed on to activate.

 _The only thing you're good for is bleeding._

Entirely despite himself, Aeron found himself grinning into the darkness as he set to work.

* * *

 _Now …_

Fire, for purification.

Water, for healing.

Earth, for binding.

Hope had each set out in bowls at equal points of the salt circle: a bowl of water, a bowl of earth, and a bowl of smouldering coals ready to leap back to life at Hope's word. Air was the final element to bind it, but that was everywhere. If she lost the ability to use air, she had bigger problems than the sword.

Burying the sword in the dead center of the circle, Hope looked over it again. The detailing on the hilt was fine, and it left a big enough hole for the ruby she'd found (stolen) to be set in the hilt.

The moon was full overhead, ready to help guide her spell. She'd never used a _nexus vorte_ , but she'd been told that the way the moon called to her werewolf nature made it as good as one.

She could only hope it would help her now.

Arms spread wide, she began her incantation.

She'd designed it specifically for this, taking what she knew of the original spell and tweaking it to her current circumstances. She wouldn't become a huntress, of course—she couldn't. A huntress's blood was poisonous to witches, and she was a witch, so she figured being a huntress was a good way to get herself killed.

But she could make this sword, and she could wield it just as well as any huntress.

The incantation rose in pitch, the flames leaping to life to dance over the coals. The wind picked up, swirling around her. Inside her, the baby kicked for the first time, almost making her stutter in her incantation. She continued on, trying to focus.

As the spell reached its penultimate point, Hope dropped to her knees before the sword, clasping the blade in her palms until it broke through her skin, blood running down in rivulets. She chanted louder and louder as the blood trickled toward the earth, touching the soil and travelling outwards in three directions, headed for each of the bowls—

When it touched them, Hope felt it with her entire being.

Fire spread from the bowl of coals, licking over the trail of blood in a line before reaching the sword, lighting it up. Hope removed her hands before they burned, keeping them out either side of her with the bloody palms turned upwards. The flame spread along the remaining two paths, reaching the bowls and making the water hiss and steam, the earth smoke.

The wind picked up in intensity, and just like that, the fire went out.

Only the stone remained red and glowing.

Hope stopped chanting, freezing where she knelt with blood dripping from her hands. She stood, gripping the hilt of the sword in her blood-slick palms, and freed it from the earth with a hiss.

She'd thought it was beautiful before; she'd been wrong. The blade was obsidian, the colour of burnt wood, no earth clinging to its curved edges where she'd drilled it into the ground. Hope ran a bloody finger over it, watching her blood bead on the surface and slip off.

This wasn't like the hellblade she'd heard about. This was something else entirely.

* * *

 _Then …_

Aeron laid on the cold floor, cheek pressed against the stone. Lizzie hadn't come back yet, and he'd heard nothing from her. He had his wrists bound behind him still, though he'd managed to bleed on the bracelet.

It was only a matter of time, he told himself. They'd be there soon. They'd save Lizzie, free him, and everything would be fine.

He just had to wait, and remain calm. It was all he had to do.

Just wait in the silence.

* * *

 **Let me know what you thought!**


	5. Act IV

**Sorry for the wait! Been pretty sick, but hopefully I'm coming out of it.**

* * *

ACT FOUR

 _Into Silence_

 _Eight years ago …_

" _Shhh."_

 _Aeron slammed his teeth together to trap the scream rising in his throat. He couldn't make any noise. If he did—_

" _Shhh, my Aeron," said Amarantha. "No crying, now."_

 _Nodding, Aeron tried to raise himself up, to stand again, but he'd long since fallen slack in his shackles. There was no way he could get back on his feet, not now._

 _A whimper rose in his throat as the hot poker touched his skin again, this time brushing past his forearm._

" _Shhh," Amarantha repeated, dark eyes shimmering only inches from his own. "You bear the pain, and you do not scream. Not even a whimper to betray it, understand?"_

 _Aeron nodded again, head dipping forward with the effort._

 _And then she stabbed him with it, right in the gut._

 _The scream erupted from his mouth, shaking his whole body as Amarantha twisted the poker inside him, pulling it free. He fought to keep his sobbing under control, but to no avail, each inward breath bringing fresh pain as he jostled his new wound just by moving._

" _Oh, Aeron," said Amarantha, disappointment in her tone. "Do you know who hears you when you scream like that?" She dropped the poker, stepping closer to him to rest a hand against his cheek. Her skin was hot and slick; she'd been holding the poker for hours. "Your father hears you. And I have to tell you, Aeron, Rhysand doesn't like having such a weak, pathetic creature for a son." Her eyes brightened. "Perhaps that's why he never comes to visit you."_

" _Please," Aeron breathed. "Please, I'll try not to scream if he comes here. Tell him if he comes and teaches me how to be stronger, I won't scream, I swear—"_

 _Amarantha stepped back, tearing her hand away from him. A flick of her wrists had his shackles falling loose, dropping him onto the floor in a heap._

" _Crawl back to your room and shut the door behind you. Put the chains back on your feet, and threw the key out to where you can't reach it. If you make it through the night without crying, I might consider sending a healer to see to your injury tomorrow."_

 _When she left, she called no one in to supervise him. They both knew he'd make no attempt to escape._

* * *

Aeron snapped back to consciousness at the sound of the door opening, rasping along the concrete floor. The light it let in revealed Lizzie hobbling into the cell, half of her face matted with blood.

The door slammed shut, leaving them in darkness again.

"Aeron?" she asked. He heard the sounds of shuffling, growing closer as Lizzie crawled towards him. "Aeron, are you okay?"

He didn't respond. When her fingers brushed his feet, he flinched away.

* * *

 _Now …_

It took Hope a week to gather enough magic to light a candle, let alone cast a protection spell on Lyn's home.

To say it was aggravating would be a severe understatement.

Physically, she felt fine. Better than ever, when she held the sword in her hands. The magic imbued in it called to her, pulling at her blood. If it worked like Rayna Cruz's had, the sword would trap any soul stabbed with it, but only Hope could use it to track her prey the moment she scarred them with it. It was hers, the spell sealed with her blood and hers alone.

It was beautiful.

Incidentally, she'd had to tuck it out of sight so she didn't start calling it _my precious_.

Two more weeks passed, her magic building steadily all the while. The growth of one other thing concerned her more: her belly had pressed outward, well beyond the point that she could hide it. She estimated she was almost at the end of her second trimester, and she still hadn't seen anyone medically inclined about it. She couldn't risk it, after all.

Under the guise of a pregnant human travelling through the city, Hope began walking Lyn to and from work again. She was armed (not with the sword; she couldn't hide that under her cloak easily) and ready to defend Lyn, as promised, but they both knew that the time was quickly approaching that she wouldn't be able to fight at all.

Finally, the day arrived that she thought she just might be ready and able to cast the damn spell and get out of there.

She told Lyn during their "morning stroll", to which Lyn replied, "Thank the fucking Cauldron."

"You mean you don't love having my company every day?" Hope asked, feigning offense.

"I think I'd rather be alone forever, thanks." Her tone wasn't nearly as cold as her words suggested.

"Well, I'll be leaving you be soon enough."

Lyn eyed her, gaze zeroing in on her belly. "Are you sure you should be travelling in your c—"

"It's not a condition," said Hope. "It's a pregnancy. And believe me, this baby wants Jora dead just as much as I do." He was a Mikaelson, after all. Hope had been born with violence in her heart like a murmur that lulled her to sleep at night, and she expected nothing less for her son.

"I don't see how you'll be able to even swing a sword once you're further along. You're starting to waddle already."

"Shut up," said Hope, but there was no menace in her tone. "I'll be able to fight until the moment this baby comes." _I'm my mother's daughter._

"I'd love to see that. You, one hand on your belly, the other on your sword—"

"The belly won't go anywhere, and I'll need two hands on the sword if I'm going to be driving it into people's hearts."

Lyn sighed. "I don't know why we always end up talking about murder. I'm not even a violent person."

"It's not murder; it's justice. And you make swords for a living."

"I make as many shields as I do weapons." She slowed to a halt, turning to face Hope. "But I do mean it, you know. You should be careful once you leave. This vendetta of yours would be dangerous enough without the addition of an unborn child."

"Careful, Lyn. You almost sound like you care."

"That child is Illyrian. I don't take that lightly."

"So that's why you've done all this? Because my baby has a pair of wings?"

"Because in this world, Hope, wings are as a good as a target on your back. What do you think happens to an Illyrian child being raised by a witch like you? Any magic that isn't fae is evil in Prythian, and that prejudice runs strong with Rhysand's Illyrians. Why do you think there are no human witches left in this world? The hatred runs deep. A child that's both fae and witch … It's not right. They won't like it. And if Jora knows that you're more than human, he could use that information against you."

"I'll be fine," dismissed Hope. "I'm more powerful than you know."

"It took you almost a month to recover from bleeding on a sword."

"And now I'm at full strength, and I have the sword." Hope stepped away, back aching a little. "Can you make it the rest of the way, or would you like me to hold your hand?"

Lyn scoffed, not bothering to reply as she took off down the road, braid slapping her back right where the join of her wings was hidden by cloth.

Hope didn't know why she couldn't stop arguing with Lyn. Maybe it was because she reminded her of too many of the women in Hope's life: strong, unapologetic, reckless. She'd helped Hope when it didn't benefit her, not really, and that was something Hope wished she was in a position to emulate.

The reality was that Hope had only one mission right now, possibly forever.

* * *

 _Then …_

 _Aeron laid there, silent and unmoving, for hours. He bled from the wound in his stomach, each welt from the hot poker weeping as he did, wetting the floor beneath him until there was only the cold damp of his cell and nothing else._

 _Through it all, he made no sound. No scream, no sob, no whimper. Nothing._

* * *

"Aeron? Aeron, please, I can hear you breathing. I know you're awake. Please answer me."

He laid still, frozen, and didn't make a sound. His fists were clenched and trembling, making his chains rattle, but he kept his mouth closed firmly, refusing to open it for anything.

"Aeron," Lizzie tried again, voice breaking. "Aeron, please talk to me. I need to know you're okay."

He remained silent as she begged, as she pleaded for his voice, for his company, for his support. Aeron laid there, silent and unmoving.

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope didn't bother walking Lyn home that afternoon. Her back was killing her, and it didn't seem like Lyn really wanted her company anyway.

She made her way to Lyn's house, letting herself in with a simple unlocking spell. She set herself up, making the salt circle on the carpet in front of the fireplace and arranging the bowl of herbs just so. It had been a bitch to track down some witch hazel, but it would be worth it.

She heard Lyn arrive in the late afternoon, keys rattling in the lock before she realised that Hope had left it open. By the time she reached the living area she had her shoes kicked off and her upper layer removed, half-way through unbuckling the straps that kept her wings in place.

"When you didn't arrive to escort me, I thought something might have happened."

"Something did happen—I grew tired of walking you around all the time."

Lyn scoffed, walking over to sit on the settee and watch Hope work. "So how does this go, precisely? Do you say some incantation, maybe bleed a little—"

"It's not like the sword spell. I just have to say a few words and it'll set itself."

"And how do we know that it's worked?"

"It will work."

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it. Is there no way to test it?"

"It only repels people who wish you harm. We'd need to find someone to do that. Do you think you have an abundance of enemies here?"

"No, I suppose not," admitted Lyn. "Not that that's ever been something I've been disappointed about."

"Maybe we can just tell Varian you're a spy and wait for him to storm the house."

Lyn's voice turned cold. "Don't you dare."

"Calm down," said Hope, arranging the last of the herbs as she liked. "I won't jeopardise your position."

"How kind of you." Lyn settled back into the chair, wings wrapped around herself as she watched Hope work. "How long do you think this will take, exactly?"

"I don't know; it's not an exact science. Why? Eager to get rid of me?"

"Eager to get on with my life, more like."

"Your life as a spy? It's definitely riveting, from what I've seen."

Lyn rolled her eyes. "If it's all danger and mystery, you're not doing it right. The best spies are the quiet ones."

"I'll keep that in mind for when I inevitably take over the world."

"You'd be a terrible ruler," scoffed Lyn.

"Finally, something we can both agree on." They shared a look that was almost … affectionate? "All right," said Hope, standing. "I think we might be ready."

"Finally."

Hope resisted the urge to poke her tongue out at her. "Would you mind moving back a bit? I need some space."

Lyn sprung up and moved out of the way, chanting, "Yes, my lady, right away, my lady," all the while.

"I don't see how you can qualify as a quiet spy with a mouth as big as yours," Hope said dryly. "Now hush. I have to concentrate." She stood at the center of the circle, muttering a quick, " _Incendia,"_ to make the fireplace leap to life. Drawing from the power of the flames, Hope began chanting.

She hadn't done many protection spells in her time, but she knew it wasn't supposed to feel like this. The incantation flowed freely from her mouth, but forging the connection was like picking up a bar of wet soap in the shower—again and again it slipped from her grasp, almost mockingly.

Grunting, she lowered her hands and stopped chanting.

"Did it work?" Lyn asked from where she'd installed herself in the corner.

"Something's wrong. I can't—" Hope growled in frustration, hands balling into fists. "Every time I get to the part that seals the house against violence it just slips away from me. There's no reason for that, not unless—" She froze. "Not unless the violence is already here."

Downstairs, a sword rasped on its way out of its sheath.

* * *

 _Then …_

 _In time, the quiet became a violence entirely its own, and Aeron's tongue bore the scars to prove it. Pain brought no cry, misery never a whimper._

 _Aeron knew the silent darkness. He'd been born in it, nursed at its teat, languished in it for as long as he could remember. The silence was nature and nurture, born and learned, and there would never come a day when Aeron forgot how much he owed to the space between screams._

 _The monster hated him for it, of course. He loathed Aeron's silence, the quiet tears in place of loud, leaden cries. But he would never correct Amarantha's wishes; instead, the monster focused his attention on disproving Aeron's silent vow, on breaking him, body and soul._

" _She told you your father would come if you never screamed," said the monster, leering over Aeron in his cell. "But you'll never be strong enough. Illyrians, they value strength, courage, skill in battle. You'll never be enough."_

 _It would be foolish to say that the words stung more than the lashes. Aeron was nothing if not a fool._

" _Oh, Aeron …" sighed the monster. "They'll never love you, you know. Not the queen, not her high lord—"_

"Aeron …"

" _But one day, it'll just be you and me … mark my words, sweet boy. You and I—"_

"Aeron, please …"

"— _we'll have such adventures when the time comes, and every one will lead us right back here, with you in chains at my feet. Maybe one day …"_

"Aeron!"

" _... you'll even scream for me again."_

* * *

Aeron came to with a start, heart shuddering in his chest with such force that he felt his ribs groan. The door was open, light streaming in—

And Marcel loomed over him. Not the monster.

Marcel.

He tried to speak, finding himself choked with a sudden onslaught of tears.

"It's okay, buddy," said Marcel. He reached behind Aeron, shattering the chains so his hands were free. "We're here to get you guys out."

Aeron remained in place, sprawled on the floor with his hands bent behind his back. The shackles were still on, more like bracelets now that they were independent of the chains.

"Come on, Aer," said Marcel, reaching down to him. "Do you think you can walk?"

Aeron stared at the offered hand, terrified to take it. His arms were numb from being in the same position for so long; moving them would be excruciating. He knew that from experience.

Marcel must have realised, because he said, "That's okay, you keep 'em there. I can carry you. Just—here, I'll put you over my shoulder, okay? You might feel kinda light-headed, but we've got food and water in the car."

Aeron sat up on his knees, looking around the cell. Lizzie's corner of the cell, stained with blood, was empty.

"Rebekah's getting Lizzie,' Marcel explained. "We'll meet them out there. Are you ready?"

Taking Aeron's silence for an answer in the affirmative, Marcel swept him up, draping him over his shoulder as gently as possible.

* * *

There were dead bodies strewn over the house they made their way through. From the angle he was held at, Aeron saw only bits and pieces of them—literally—and the carpet, old and threadbare and soaked with patches of blood.

Marcel set Aeron down on the ground outside. It was early evening, the sky a warm blue with a tepid yellow stripe along the horizon. The area was woodsy, no other buildings around.

"We have a motel room an hour away to clean up in," said Marcel. "Caroline and Ric are going to meet us there."

Aeron didn't bother acknowledging what he'd said, focusing on getting his arms in front of him instead. He clenched his teeth through the pain, betraying none of it.

"Hey." Marcel crouched down in front of him. "They're all dead and gone, Aer. You're safe. Lizzie's safe. We're taking you home."

"He won't answer," said Lizzie, limping down the front steps. She was half-draped over Rebekah, bruised and bloody all over. "He stopped talking yesterday."

Their conversation continued, he knew. He just stopped listening.

* * *

 _Now …_

The first attacker was dead before they'd even entered Hope's line of sight.

"Get to the back door," she told Lyn, sword unsheathed. She barely had time to scoop up the scabbard and sling it over her back before the next came into view, hurling an axe right at Hope. Lyn knocked her out of the way, barreling her into the floor.

"Not leaving you," Lyn replied, rolling towards the axe.

Hope brought the sword up to strike at the attacker's leg, slicing through the flesh with the tip until she struck bone. The man—male—screamed, diving for Hope—

And stopped short, axe buried in his chest.

Hope wasted no time in getting to her feet, slashing at his throat. She grabbed the handle of the axe on his way down, prising it free before letting him fall to the floor. It was still dripping with blood when she tossed it to Lyn. "Let's go."

They met the next assailant on the stairs. Hope crippled them with an aneurysm spell, stepping past them and diving for the next as Lyn hacked them with her axe. She wasn't very graceful, relatively untrained as she was, but god she was strong.

It felt as though there was no end to the attackers. Hope felled them, one after another with magic and blade, burying her new hellblade in the dead centers of their chests and watching the stone glow, pleased with the souls she gave it.

Finally, Lyn beheaded the last one in sight and they were left in silence.

"Is that …" Lyn panted. "Is that it?"

Hope tried to listen past the roaring of blood in her ears, to attune her senses better. There were no heartbeats in the house but their own. "I think so."

Surveying the bloody mess of Lyn's kitchen, where they'd ended their fight, Hope sighed. "We have to run. Now."

"I thought you said there weren't any left—"

"Not that I can tell, but more will come. And before that, the city guard will. You have three minutes to pack your things and meet me in the back alley."

Lyn shook her head. "No, you can't just—I can't just leave! I live here, I work here—"

"You spy here, I know, but if you stay here, you'll die here, too. Pack a bag."

"And if I say no?"

Hope whirled on her, sword still in hand. "If you stay here, you'll either die or be taken."

"Not if I go to Varian."

"And say what? That you made this blade for me out of the goodness of your heart? How long until he finds out about you? You can't spy if you're under his watch. What do you think he'll do when he finds out that you've been a traitor all along? Does High Lord Tarquin show mercy to Night Court spies?"

Lyn's bottom lip wavered, her eyes wide. "I never wanted this."

Hope almost laughed, motioning towards her swollen belly. It was covered in blood. "I'm pregnant and running for my life; join the club. First, pack your fucking things."

Wiping her blade clean on a curtain, Hope sheathed it across her back, the weight of it a comfort as she stepped out into the darkness.

* * *

 _Then …_

Aeron watched the dirt and grime spiral down the drain. The trail bloomed red every time he let his cut wrist enter the water stream.

He didn't hurt anymore. He didn't know how long it had been the way, and he was definitely still injured, but he'd turned numb at some point. He felt the stiffness in his joints, but that was all.

He thought he heard a knock at the door. Talking. A deep voice, like Marcel's. Something higher in pitch. Caroline.

Aeron stayed until the hot water stopped flowing. The dirt followed after that.

The blood didn't.

* * *

 **The next volume should be up in the next few days! Feedback makes it come faster :)**


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